


A Thousand Cuts or a Thousand Knocks

by Teakay



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Dissociative Identity Disorder, F/M, General Sexualized Creepiness, Self-Loathing, Serial Killers, Slut Shaming, Snuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 14:46:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teakay/pseuds/Teakay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a prompt on the kink meme (http://superhighschoollevelsmut.dreamwidth.org/2369.html?thread=1231425): "Someone gets turned on watching an execution. Guilt ensues."</p><p>Touko Fukawa watches a boy die in front of her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thousand Cuts or a Thousand Knocks

"What... what.... what was that?"

Like if she put the question out there someone would give a different answer than the one she already had, someone would make it not true, the wet between her thighs would dry up in an instant. 

She hadn't had to see Maizono. No one made her look at Maizono. Not even what happened in the gym just a few hours ago was this bad. Enoshima was pretty in that trashy bleach-blonde too-tight too-short kogal way but after all she was a _girl_ and her tits weren't as big as Asahina's. And it was over fast. She didn't even scream, just choked something out, sounding puzzled as blood poured from her mouth, before crumpling to the floor. Maybe she didn't even have time to really feel the spears through her. 

Kuwata, now, Kuwata wasn't the kind of boy she liked, so loud so brash so insensitive. Just as trashy as Enoshima, how many earrings did one ear need? Why would she ever have to fear Syo impaling someone who'd willingly impaled _himself_ so many times? When he stuck out his tongue and showed off what he'd done to it – ugh! That ridiculous dye job. And that horrible shirt with the bloody skull she always had to avert her eyes from. She should've known he was the murderer. But he screamed and begged in terror and in agony and his screams were just the same as the ones she heard in her nightmares, Syo's dreams (sometimes she would wake up from those dreams with a hand down her underwear and her fingers slick and pull out that hand suppressing a shriek). 

(Like her father used to say with his breath full of beer: all cats are gray in the dark) 

She should've shut her eyes, she _should've_. But she didn't, standing there gathered outside the fence with all the rest, like an idiot, like a truly depraved and rotten girl she watched. 

He'd started screaming in the little parody of a courtroom with words any boy – any person – could use: _No please stop this please I'm begging you nonononono I don't want to die! I don't want to die! I don't want to die! No! No – !_ And then mercifully the collar that snapped shut around his neck choked him off as it dragged him out of the room, one hand desperately outstretched and Touko didn't feel as bad as she might've about not reaching out for it because no one else did. 

(Other words that leaked into her dreams: _Please don't. Please don't. I have a wife, I have a baby, I have a little girl. Please. You're hurting me, Fukawa-san, please – I love you. I love you, I really do, you don't have to do this, we can have so much more time together. Please let me go –_ )

(After that time when she woke up suddenly in a back alley of Matsuyama, Shikoku, she started hearing Kazukiyo Kanno's voice, older now cracking sobbing: _I'm sorry, Fukawa-san, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it, we were kids, we were in_ elementary school _, I was stupid, please please please –_ )

For a moment down in the room with the chain-link fence and the spotlights and the scoreboard he was silent. His arms bound pinning his hands at his throat trying to tear off the collar. Staring at the cannon, past the cannon at them, his eyes large and pleading (just what did he want them to _do_? Enoshima's blood was barely dry). Touko didn't watch sports, wasn't familiar with their paraphernalia. For too long she didn't understand. 

For the first few seconds the cannon fired slow, one at a time, all she heard from Kuwata was hard breathing, grunts and gasps with each impact, then the balls started coming faster and harder – _Oh_ , he was gasping now, _ah, oh, oh no,_ no – ! and then quite suddenly as probably something cracked or ruptured he screamed again, wordless with shock and pain, and she clapped her hands to her ears as a jolt went through her gut but it wasn't enough, never was enough. 

He didn't scream through the whole thing. Nobody had the lungs for that. The screams he got out as he jerked and convulsed against the pole until he finally ran out of air for good were bad enough on their own. The screams and the whimpers and the occasional sobbing little cries _please. No. Please. Help me. Please._ And soon his skin broke and the blood started to fly and Touko clutched at her hair and watched. In the dark in the back of her brain Syo uncoiled, flicking out her tongue like a snake testing the air. No, not here, not now! 

_Baseballs,_ snickered Syo. _How creative. How woefully inefficient!_  
  
And then quite suddenly the sound stopped, all the sounds stopped. The gate slid back. 

A change in lighting left Kuwata's body in merciful silhouette. Bad enough seeing it hang limp from the collar still round his neck, arms fallen by his sides, feet dangling centimeters from the ground. That jacket and those sneakers weren't nearly so white any longer. There was real gore on his shirt. At least his arms weren't fixed in place by scissor blades. At least it wasn't Syo who did this. It wasn't _her_ , even if dirty rotten girl that she was – 

Fujisaki was on her knees and sobbing. Asahina looked like she was going to throw up. Even Togami – so cool, so unruffled – looked unsettled. 

And now, surely, was the time to do something. Someone could make their way across the cluttered floor thick with baseballs and at least try to take him down, carry the body back up so they could have some kind of funeral for him and Maizono and Enoshima. What they would do with the bodies afterward, though, that was the question. Maybe the incinerator where Kuwata's shirt hadn't entirely burned. It would be poetically fitting, wouldn't it. 

Not her, though, with her legs shaking and her underwear soaked. Weak scared Fukawa who couldn't stand blood. Not _her_. And, she soon saw, not anyone else. 

Finally she shut her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> In Free Time Events, Syo mentions following her "first love" to Shikoku to kill him. According to Fukawa's regular personality, an elementary school classmate she wrote a love letter to when he was about to move to Shikoku tacked the letter up in public to be laughed at. One of the victims Naegi reads about in the library casefile is only fourteen years old.


End file.
